


It's Just A Spark

by ohdeardes



Category: British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV) RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8818141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohdeardes/pseuds/ohdeardes
Summary: When her colleague at the agency 'Howsham International' accidentally doesn't book Benedict Cumberbatch into a hotel just days before the 'Star Trek: Into Darkness' London premier - Des' home becomes his hotel and both lives change as they meet.





	1. Howsham International

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So I posted this story on here (well the first chapter) four years ago and then promptly forgot I even had this account. I just rediscovered it and have decided to edit and re-post it and I'll actually continue it this time. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed, thank you so much for reading - I'd love to read any comments or constructive critiques you have:)

It was the second time that morning that Pippa Morgan had checked her emails; both times her inbox was empty which reassured her of nothing. 

As tour manager at Howsham International, it was her job to book the flights and hotels for the ever-picky people of bands and actors - last month she’d been given orders to get the ‘Star Trek into Darkness’ cast housed for the oncoming press tour.  With the world premiere situated in Leicester Square, somewhere she had learnt to call the ‘land of expense’, she knew that finding a suitable hotel for people with such expectations whilst still remaining on a horribly tight budget would be difficult. 

It was only the week before the actual premier that she found somewhere perfect; a five star commercial hotel, ten minutes east of the premier. It would be brilliant, definitely one of her best finds and she was sure a promotion was creeping nearer. However, it had started to fall downhill a day or so after she’d booked it. 

With hotels as sought after as this particular one was, there was bound to be draw backs; this one’s fault was availability. It was three days before the event and she had still not been sent the booking confirmation, which left her hopeless to do anything but wait.

Finally, around lunch, an email from the hotel appeared in her inbox. “Thank god.” She muttered into the thin air of her office and opened up the message:

‘Dear Mrs Morgan, We must regret to inform you that of the seven rooms requested for the nights of the 1st and 2nd of  May, only six have been accepted. Of the seventh application form, important details such as current home address were not entered…’  
 “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. I was sure I’d missed something.” Pippa sighed frustratedly, leaning her head into the palm of her hands.

‘With such information being withheld from our servers, it makes it impossible to proceed with the order. As the booking requests are high at this time of year, it is vital to inform you that the order placed for Mr Benedict T C Cumberbatch has not been accepted…’

“Shit, what on earth am I going to do now?” She thought peering into the office next to hers, when the thought struck. 

Her colleague and friend Des Paige lived on Ryder Street, a five minute drive from Leicester square and she was almost assured that she would give up her spare bedroom in her flat. I mean, who else was it going to go to anyway?

Philippa closed her laptop and walked outside to Des’ office, “Hey Des, can I come in?” She said knocking lightly on the door.

 “Uh, sure.” The voice called from inside the room. Pip twisted the door handle and stepped inside.

 “Anything wrong?” Des asked, looking up from the piles of paperwork smothering her desk

“I’ve actually sort of got a favour to ask you.” Pip smiled awkwardly walking towards her friend, whose only feature visible behind the white bundles was a worried looking forehead. 

 “Go ahead.” Des gestured nervously, pushing some accounts to the side and taking off her reading glasses, focusing all her attention on Pip.

“Okay, well, I’ve sort of messed up; big time and I would owe you everything if you would just do this one thing for me.” Pip confessed.

“What exactly did you do then?” Des asked, intrigued by how Philippa was reacting today. She’d always known her to be the independent, crass type, not the pleading best friend. 

“The booking,” She stuttered. “The booking on Friday for the fucking Star Trek cast. Apparently, I didn’t enter something in somewhere and Benedict Cumberbatch hasn’t got anywhere to go.”

“And you’re asking me to find suitable accommodation in three days for someone such as him? Pip, I really want to help but you know I’m finances not -“

“No, not exactly.” Philippa interjected, rubbing the back of her neck anxiously. “I was wondering whether you would let him stay in your guest room for just one night.”

“What?” Des exclaimed widening her eyes at her friend. 

“Just hear me out first.” Pip said. Des huffed and moved the paperwork strategically back in front of her face.

“You only live a few minutes from the premier. You’re not using that spare room, someone might as well. And I mean, it’s not like anyone has been in your house for a while –“

Des raised her eyebrow at the implied insult. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to just give up my home for anyone!”

“He’s not just anyone and plus it will save my job.”

“Who said your job was in danger?” Des stood up and folded her arms closed.

“I have managed to fail to book a forthcoming Hollywood film star into a hotel the night before his premiere. I am head of this department, I’m the woman who is meant to be able to do anything and everything in this field. Honey, sweetie pie, the woman who is meant to be my best fucking friend - my job’s in danger.”

“Well, what do you mean? What will this all require on my part?” Des asked.

“All I’m asking you is to provide a bed and maybe a meal, nothing more than that, business. Please?”

“But I don’t know the guy!”

“Have you seen any of his films, interviews, anything?” Pip asked.

“Yes, and…”

“He seems like a nice guy, doesn’t he?” 

“I’m not just going to let him in because he seems like a nice guy” 

“No, you’re going to let him in because you’re my best friend and I would really appreciate your help.”

Des sighed and reluctantly said, “Fine, fine. Only to save your arse though.” 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Philippa said as she came around the desk and hugged Des, a beaming smile fixed on her face. “I really owe you one.”

“Yes you do.” Des said as Pip opened the door and walked back to her office. She looked back over the masses of work on her desk, sighing, as she sat down, put her glasses on and tied back her hair.


	2. A Dorky Smile

There was still thirty minutes until the actor arrived at Des’ house in London. 

She was worrying, worrying about everything. What if the street was too noisy? What if he found the bed uncomfortable? What kind of food was he expecting? Wasn’t he used to all the best things in life? 

Every single possibility of anything that could go wrong was rushing through her brain and clamping her from the inside. She tried to balance it out thinking about how she shouldn’t care; she didn’t want him at her home anyway so why was she trying to be the perfect hostess?

Truth was, Des was house proud. Obscenely, obtusely house proud. She took pride out of the fact that her little house was a reflection of herself. She had converted the largest room into a small library when she bought it and there were hundreds of little pieces of art and antiques scattered across each room. With dim lights and open windows she found herself much more able to relax, the moderately fresh air of London was her calming agent, so that was how she kept it.

She shuffled from the living room into her kitchen, more piles of books were stacked up in the doorway - clearly the library hadn’t been large enough after her five years of residence. Books about mathematics and philosophy were stacked upon second editions of Tolstoy and Orwell which were stacked upon the plays of Ibsen and topped off by, strangely, Trotsky’s History of the Russian Revolution. 

“What on earth is that doing there?” She murmured amusedly to herself. She hadn’t studied Russian history since her A-Levels ten years ago but she moved it just in case Benedict thought she was secretly planning a communist revolution. That wouldn’t be the greatest first impression.

Once she had finally manoeuvred her way into the kitchen, she cursed at herself for not going grocery shopping. The fridge was completely bare. Well, not entirely. There were three bottles of bottled water laying flat in the middle compartment, above that was a not-too-ripe looking slice of brie from a dinner party the week previous and below was a rather juicy looking bag of oranges, which seemed to be her go to snack as of late. She’d recently developed a bad habit of forgetting to eat when it came to her late night reading sessions or when sorting through her endless piles of paperwork.

She threw the piece of cheese into the bin and grabbed an orange, bouncing it between her hands before she decided it might be better to just put it back. Looking at her watch dejectedly, she came to the realisation that she would be unable to run to Tesco in the 20 minutes she had left and resigned herself to the idea that the night wasn’t going quite to plan.

Now, there was still the matter of what she would wear. 

Des walked up the stairs and into her bedroom, sat on the bed and sighed at the rather lacking range of clothes she had on offer. On a night at home like this she would usually stick on some shorts and a t-shirt, put her hair into a messy bun and read a book but she knew she couldn’t do that now. 

She then thought about wearing her work clothes; a nice pencil skirt to show off her figure and a white blouse but perhaps that was too formal. Eventually she settled on black jersey trousers,  a white drape top and her hair in a high ponytail. “I suppose that will do.” She muttered, posing into the mirror.

Finally, five minutes before expected, there was a quiet knock on the door. Des sat up suddenly from her bed, brushed down her outfit and headed down the hallway towards the door. With a deep breath she opened it to find a tall man with a dorky smile looking down at her. 

“Hi, I’m Ben and I guess I’m your new roommate for tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is quite a short one - I just really wanted to end it with the arrival of Ben! 
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments and constructive critiques,
> 
> I hope you're enjoying!!


End file.
